~ 1 ~

April 16, 2009

Claire Born

Dearest Tom and Gentle Reader ~

I’ve noted of late a difference between my dreamSelf and my Wakingself: the former seeming more true to Higher Self than the latter, it occurs to me that wakingself may well be the ego, who sees wakinglife as its territory. DreamSelf simply observes and makes no judgment, taking things as they come, marveling at what occurs before her eyes, whereas wakingself seems to be more attached to outcome and tries it’s darndest to “figure things out.”

DreamSelf seems to come to the correct conclusions, simply by way of observation.

DreamSelf (whom I believe to be TrueSelf) has dreamlife pretty much all to herself, but in waking life – particularly of late – she takes a back seat to ego, whilst ego (whom I believe to be a fabrication sprung from First Perplexion of Left-Brain) has been ruling the waking-life roost – and of late has been crowing an awful lot.

(I think of ego like a computer which has been given an incomputable problem to solve. Many sci-fi writers have tended to presume that such a conundrum makes the computer go insane. Others have proposed that such a conundrum would make the computer sentient. Still others have presumed the result would be both.

I think this is how ego is born in folks here on Earth, at the very first “NO!” that springs forth.)

Dig this: NO, held in a mirror, says “ON.”


I’d like to utilize these letters as an opportunity to allow Conscious Mind (dreamSelf, aka TrueSelf?) to “do the ‘thinnin’ around here” for a change. Give the ego a vacation, let it sit back and observe for a change of pace in wakinglife, and hopefully learn some things (which is its propensity to love to do), and upon that learning, come to the full realization it actually looks forward to the opportunity to retire, and does so, fully, at its own choosing.

That’s my fondest hope and biggest dream for the “long run” (or short-run as it may be) which may be facilitated by this exercise with thee.

As to the “short run” – how this exercise might manifest on e-paper, I cannot in all honesty say. It will be a “meditation” of sorts, which may take form by way of more than one personality coming to fore from time to time (seeing as the Infinite, expressing itSelf through Life, has an infinite array of personalities from which to draw).

As to whether this will actually be the case or not, I cannot say.

Likewise, whether or not I am correct in my presumption that dreamSelf is truly the Enlightened One within this particular manifestation of the Infinite, also remains to be seen. Or not...in that the ego may decide to break through at any point, posing as TrueSelf, as it is prone to do in waking life at odd moments during Enlightened One’s wonderful and so-far all-too-brief “runs of the show.”

Approaching this letter-writing exercise as a meditation, the part of me writing this is mostly assured that “dreamSelf” will in fact remain at the helm, and (if perchance dreamSelf is not The Enlightened One personified within this body) reveal exactly what/who the true nature of dreamSelf is.

Of course there is the thing:

I now find myself facing what Presence faced upon revealing ItSelf to me some decade-or-two ago. I said: “This is wonderful! – there’s a feeling of knowing everything – oneness with Everything – and yet I’d like to be able to comprehend this experience with my mind....” (I didn’t know beans about enlightenment at the time). “Might we converse?” I asked.

This question led to addressing Presence as persona, which led to choice of gender, appearance, etc., and hence to some considerable limitations. But that’s what happens in Life (even in e-life!) and so it goes....

So...as to gender, I suppose I shall remain female – at least for the moment (considering the fact that I have some immediate cognitive reference to experience being that gender.) Ageless and any age, I presume, a bit of a metamorph on that one. Height? Gee, I dunno. Depends on the height of most people in this world we’re fabricating here. Appearance? lithe – I’ve always seen myself as lithe (I flux, weight-wise all the time for some reason). Lithe, graceful, and sometimes very very clumsy, with hair that changes color with the light. Sometimes it’s white. New to this world. Learning the ropes.

So, if all this is all right with you, then....


Empty-handed and fully-loaded into the Void (aka All that Is) I leap.



~ 2 ~

April 17, 2009

Thanks for doing this Claire, very much. We shall have fun! Shall conjure spirit and dream true dreams.

I'll take firsties. And awaaay we go!

Love and thanks,


Begin new game!

~ 3 ~

To Whom I know not of,

You don’t know me, and I don’t know you, but they came to me this morning before sunrise, emerging from beneath the central square, and Juliana told me I should write. So I am.

Of course, she has no name, as they are Unders, the ones who hide their names. I call her Juliana, however, because when we met she stared with those penetrating eyes, gave a wry smile and said, “Your mouth is gorgeous!” And Juliana she became to me, the leader of our clandestine movement.

Who are you? And why am I writing you?

I have no answer to that except I have been chosen. You too have come to know the bitterness of our times – you must have – so you too know the greyness of our regime. The polis have our bodies and even our minds under drear lock and key. Yet our souls still yearn and struggle for the color. We’ve lived beneath despair so long that hope has grown a shadow.

Even now I wonder about what happened to me this morning, and if it was merely a dream within a dream. But for one thing: I hold the Mallareus Mallecarium in my hands.

Yes, a new book! Since the polis regulated the New when I was small, the last new book I saw was Green Eggs and Slime, a children’s book smuggled into our third grade class by Jimmy Smitty. They came for him and took him away and I never saw him again.

The Mallareus is not new, except to me, how can it be with a name like that? It’s a leatherbound volume, tooled in red and gold, rather smallish. It’s old and soft and flexible, with a strap around it. Juliana handed it to me in the square, under the broken statue. She told me it was mine.

When I smelled it, I cried rivers of joy. The scent of it alone is magical, like all the old soft grandmothers in the world adding a petal of their sweet soul to a leather cachet of words and spells and symbols.

I don’t know who you are, but wonder if you are a Prime Symbolite or maybe a Guest of Starion? In either case, or whoever you are, I’ve not yet gotten the courage to open the book, but include the cover for your soulanisis.

Your new contact,

Norman Jinks

The Mallareus Mallecarium

~ 4 ~

Dearest Norman,

Doth anyone know of me? And yet you address me...what of that? Your world and its peoples are a constant source of amazement to me and to “my kind” who, like me, have counterparts upon this land, a land you are yet to embrace as your own.

I know you dream for this world to be your own – such a truer world your world would be than it now appears, and “it is written”to be so again and yet...each makes his or her own world in the moment here and now, together and apart.

And I can tell very little beyond this: it is your world. As pertains to who or what I am; I can only say this: At some point you will know me like you know yourself; in the deepness of your deepest dream, you know me.

This is all I can say.

And for you I would – I could – reveal my name, if only you could roll it upon the tongue. If only you could roll it upon this tongue, my name would repeat again and again, for it would be the most familiar sound you’ve ever heard. And upon that utterance, this you see would suddenly become a very strange world to you, indeed...were you to roll my name upon your tongue....

Could you roll it upon your tongue?

Could you roll it upon your tongue, you would find yourself elsewhere.

For at present, this is a place of
other kinds of rollings
they say the balls are rolling
you hear the thunder rolling
and I hear there are roilings, too,
but these roilings are something
with which I have yet to become familiar

Were these roilings to roil right up to me, offer their hand-lesses to me to shake, and say, “How do ye do?” I probably would look straight through, for, from what I understand, having yet to lay visage upon anything like them, and having yet to have voices such as these reach my ears, it would be as if the very air were stagnant and empty yet wavering before me (or so I am told).

(I do wonder, though, were I to finally see one of these roilings, would roilings, then, begin to fascinate and amaze me as much as thee?)

Juliana was wise to speak of me to you, she was wise to suggest and inspire you (by the mere laying of your hand upon the Great Knowing of the Book) to forthwith set your words upon the blank page therein.

To and upon the fourth page, your hands did swiftly fly ~
upon the fourth page, the page that accomplishes much
through much hard work, upon the fourth page
the page that sits beneath the seal of the third,
the seal that seals and sends....

Upon that fourth page you set your seal to venture forth “as it is written.” You shall swiftly see how it is “we write our own destiny....”

For Time folds in upon itself.

And, yes you smelt it right.There are grandmothers midst the pages, their scent upon its sheath, and grandfathers writings within, inspired by The Wisdom of the Mothers and Grandmothers, for this Oneness of Family is and always shall be at the root of your species....

And your quest is this: to make it so once again.

Yes, I called it a sheath. Is the book something to wield?

One does, in all ways, wield Truth ~ In your world, it is The Sacred Daggar.

When you opened this book to my tomorrow just now, you noticed your words from your yesterday had disappeared and these words, written upon your yesterday by my tomorrow lie fresh upon the page....

And you saw it just now unfurl before your eyes...and you were amazed....

Only when the world has spun to its righting will the words we write emerge in total upon the pages and fill the book....

Ah, yes, you see words upon all the pages now....

The words aside from yours and mine are another world’s words. Someday all the words upon these pages will have been writ by you and me.... For now, deep within this book ~ as solid and stable as your world seems to be ~ the words within are like yours and mine appearing, fading, appearing anew...all letters once shared between others who once spoke clandestine, like you and me. And now look! It is for all to see....

That is to say, all who are privy, for it is a book to be read By Invitation Only.

In the meantime, while we work and wait for write to right the world you know, learn from your predecessors, and speak to me. You may keep this page open to you as long as you will, as long as you alone stand before it, for these are sacred words between you and me, at least for now, and I am with thee.



~ 5 ~

Dear Ms. fleur,

I don’t know what to say. It seems I’ve contacted a goddess, or possibly an alien. Your words, so soft and spirit-filled, strike like hammer blows to my knowing. Roilings indeed. What world do you speak of? Who are your people? Page four blank? I’ve still to gather enough gumption to read past the cover of the Mallareus.

That book, as much as I love it to my core, scares me. Juliana held it lightly when she gave it to me, as if it was a bomb or something, about to go off. I put the strap back on. Seemed safer.

But it seems you speak of a book beyond, of a place farther than I’ve ever gone. I never thought to know a goddess, whose name, can I but roll it, will set me free. I wonder if you speak in mystic symbols I don’t yet understand.

Perhaps, if time truly folds, I have already gone to that page, and written. I had no idea when I decided to join the Subversives and the Unders that something like this could happen, that it could lead me here, a place I never knew could be – or people to fill it like you (if you are a person as I know of them). Unlike you fleur, I am a common person, an actuary actually, under the nominal control of the state, a straightway cubicle-man who got fed up with fear and decided to fight the polis. Any connection I have with the occult arts has been purely literary up til now.

Is fleur not your name? Last night I sat in medi-state and rolled it over and over across my tongue, watching your nameflower blossom in my mind’s eye. Yet here I remained, under the dark control of the polis, alone in my walkup.

I am to meet again with Juliana on Farnsday. You have given me much to think on til then. And a nameless dread of page four.

What worlds? Which words?

You bid me Namaste as farewell. Is that Swalian, Valinese, or Portuguise maybe? Perhaps it’s in the language of your home planet. From the loving tone of your letter, I know it is a blessing.

And so, Namaste to you as well, fleur.

Onward to freedom,

Norman Jinks

~ 6 ~

Dear Mr. Jinks,

Are we to be so formal? Perhaps in your world this is the appropriate way to address one another.

Oh, how I marvel at you and your world! Although I be in it, I be not of it, and as it is a world so different than that of my origin, many things my gaze falls upon ~ while at the same time your gaze falls upon it ~ I must say, it is as if you and I view skew lines, not quite parallel and not intersecting, but in two different planes, and as you and I have each recently been occupying different “planes” of existence, what we each stand before and let our gazes fall upon, appear differently to each of us. This is a puzzle, indeed.

I have heard of “opposites” though I have not been able to fathom them. I think, perhaps, I embark upon a lesson, as I feel the bubbly anticipation of a child whose eyes fall upon her very first book! From your view and from mine, this book Juliana handed to you is perhaps one of the “skews” I mention above, and hence so are our perceptions of it. I find it exciting to think that this book may, as part of its mission, teach me a little about worlds of “opposites.” What an opportunity!

Vernacular Twine

If you will, I would genuinely appreciate your telling me everything you know about this book, for you must know something, or it would not tremble so in your hands. As we are in “your world” I must dance within the parameters of your dancefloor, and first I must see what those parameters are, and this book certainly seems to be some sort of key in that regard (as well as in others).

Please, do tell what it is about this book that frightens you so? And please, if you can with any ease, tell me how is it that my words “strike like hammer blows to your knowing?” Do they pain you? I have heard of this thing you refer to as “pain” and it appears to be something to avoid if at all possible.

Do tell me how I can converse with you in a way that “strikes” you joyously, if indeed it must strike at all. I’d rather it fell as a feather upon your nest. But what do I know of your proclivities?

And do, please tell me how it is my letters become manifest to you? How yours become manifest to me seems to be, again, as skew from how my letters reach you. A fascinating puzzle faces us before we even begin! I am reminded of the “Jigsaw” game in a likewise polar world called “Earth,” where one takes jaggedly cut pieces of a picture and puts the picture back together, again. There is an artist of that world called Escher who made pictures of rooms with inside-out doors and upside-down stairs, and this puzzle you and I are putting together makes me think of one of his pictures in “Jigsaw.”


Escher jigsaw

Yes, we are from different worlds, and it appears that I ~ stepping into this world of yours for the first time ~ must learn not only both vernacular and twine, I must take babysteps in every way. I have composed a picture I call “Vernacular Twine” in which I play with La Langue in an attempt to synthesize your language while “learning the twine” of your culture, as you say. I hope the picture made the passage intact, as it was created by way of the ancient art of chriceando-tung, whereby colours literally weep themselves onto what-you-call canvas in the process of emotive reasoning. Please accept my apologies if I have shocked you or in any way “stepped upon your feets” as they say.

As to Tongues and Names: Bodies differ from world to world, and the world you were born into this time is one where the tongues are constructed in such a way as to make saying my true name out of the realm of possibility to pronounce. “Fleur” comes closest to carrying the essence of my name in both sound and meaning. As the word comes from the tongue of the Francines, the “r” softly rolls at the back of the tongue as does a similar consonant in my language. The word means “flower” which is a thing that springs from the ground and graces the space but briefly, just as my mission here is to impart Grace, and my time in this world is “written” to be likewise brief.

Do you still have flowers?

Speaking of words, Namaste is a greeting and (yes, you correctly sussed!) blessing of my native tongue, and it happens to be a word with which your tongue can roll, for it is a word not only from my native tongue, but from one of the eldest of tongues in your history. Though this language has been now “written out” of your encyclopiques, it is the language of your world that most closely resembles the one I am accustomed to speaking (my own tongue, if you will). The consonants of this language now extinct in your world (Sonscrete) are pronounced in a similar manner to the consonants of your Francines. Namaste means, “I Greet (bow/embrace/AM/salute/revel in/marvel at...) the Light that Shines Within You.

Oh, and do, please, for me, ask Juliana what she was “up to” as they say in this world of yours, in bringing us together at this particular juncture, for our meeting in this particular time is not how it is “written” in the book “on my end,” as you say. If I am to venture to tell you who I am, it seems I must understand where I am more fully.

Again, dear Norman, please accept my sincerest apologies for any way I may have stunned you. I shall venture to be more careful with how I reveal things in the future.

I await, almost breathless in anticipation, your response.



~ 7 ~

Dear fleur,

I can tell you how I got your last letter, though don’t seem to remember how I got your first. It came to me by bird. A bird in the city, imagine that!

Not five minutes after I sent my letter to you via secret courier, a bird came and perched on my open windowsill, a little brown bird. It sat there, chirping. At 528 Hertz, if my ear fails me not. (A solemn bird, that one, of solemn lengthy chirp.) For a time all the sounds of the city fell away and I breathed. Then when I dared move toward the tiny singer, it hopped up, flitted away and off into the sky.

As it flew, a feather dropped from its wing. I reached out the window and caught it. When I stood up, your letter was in my hand, on a rather feathery paper, beautifully calligraphed in golden ink.

So you can see why I might be a little nervous and have a tendency to be formal – though I can’t for the life of me understand how you could not have polarities in your world and still know the difference between formal and informal – nothing like this has ever happened to me. Actually it never occurred to me that things like this could happen, as I may have mentioned.

So please do not apologize, fleur, I am the one at sea here, one who never even saw a boat before. Any apology must be mine.

I walked into my flat right after handing my outgoing message to the courier, and there was your reply, in the feather of a bird. You are right about time folding. And you can do things beyond what I ever thought possible. You apologizing to me? Please no, or on if you prefer.

bird letter

All I know about the Mallareus is that I love it with all my soul, a book whose name itself is a melody. I have not owned a book since they took them all away. I fear it, because I am afraid that when I open that book my dream will end. When Juliana handed it to me and said it was mine, that warm volume folded into my hands like it was born there, glowing with the essence of old brown leather, and smelling, to me, of life itself. A life beyond this grey humdrum prison of the real. I fear the untold promise broken.

I am very interested in Sonscrete and all forbidden or archaic languages. Please fleur, tell me more. I wish to speak, but more, I need to listen.

And do not worry about the hammer blows. I spoke metaphorically, of the destruction of an old world view, one that never served me well. Here’s to intersecting planes!

Yes, we do have flowers, if but a few, and you are one, a Francine flower of celestial scent with the power to bloom across worlds. Thank you for blooming here. You have turned a fallow life into a garden of possibility.



P.S. The courier won’t be here again until tomorrow, and I won’t be meeting Juliana until Farnsday. But for all I know, your reply may arrive before I send this. Please give me time (ha ha) to do a few things before you send your next, or I may end up doing nothing but replying to your replies, since they come back immediately, or at least that one did.

~ 8 ~

Dear Dear Norman,

Ah, Flanuus! My little chirper Flanuus, who travels all the worlds and is likened to your Mercury! Flanuus is an Iris, a Hermes all in one, my dearest Flanuus! Listen to him carefully, for he imparts wisdoms to guide your upcoming journeyings whether they be far and wide or merely to the local coffeeshop.

My use of the words far and wide lead me to venture to describe the difference in perception between our worlds that allow for “your polar” and “my graduate” perceptions:

“Polar” refers to something called “opposites” which is a concept I have found amorphously moving as I endeavor to hold it. Before the white sock goes to the laundry, is it indeed white? Or white only by comparison to one grey? What if compared to itself after being laundered?

In our world, the perception of all things is as one views a rainbow closely. There is no sharp divide, only gradations which make each color eventually distinct from another. People are like this too. So one can have higher tones and another lower (as on our instrument the sylfaen) and one can search “far and wide” without narrow and wide being “opposite,” but rather words of reference as to the placement of a thing.

As to “formal” and what you call “informal(?)” I cannot say. In the world from which I have sprung, one can be formal, reserved, tentative, gracious, flighty, piquing, nudging, warm... there are various terms to describe one’s approach to another. I have intricately fiddled within my brain, your prefixes of “un” and “not” of “non” and “in-” (and others) though I have been told by such between-world travelers as Flanuus that such endeavors bear less and less fruit in the long run of Time, so I inquire inquisitively in the moment and allow the ponderings to themselves.

Does that answer your question?

I marvel at your words: “I am afraid that when I open that book my dream will end....” I marvel that your description of the Mallareus is lain out in much the same terms as one would describe the sylfaen: Even as you say the book glows with the essence and smell of life, itself, a “life beyond the grey humdrum prison” you fear the promise broken. What promise? Can you elaborate? I would so like to be fully aware of your state of mind upon this matter.

Norman, dear, in closing, allow me to say this: The words of your letter are so kind and so full of honor, my heart expands upon reading them so, that I am nudged by its flutterings to read your letter over and over again. Thank you truly for honoring me so, as I honor you. You shall someday know of the import of your Purpose in Beeing in the world to which you have grown so accustomed that this world’s changling form (as it graduates into True) is felt within you as if the very ground upon which you tread rocks like the cradle it is. Just be aware that it is a cradle which is rocking the old concepts to sleep and backwards in time doth it travel to the nothingness from which each incomplete conception came – these to which you have become accustomed are old old concepts born of incomplete perceptions.

As Pure Sight comes to you and all your kind, as you remove the darkly glasses that have been placed upon your faces, you will See Clearly once again.

In closing, I leave you with one word of Sonscrete: Satchitanand – the Bliss of Truth-Consciousness.



~ 9 ~

Dear fleur,

Thank you for giving me a few days before responding again, though I admit I was beginning to worry. I should have known it would come to me in a way unseen, at a propitious time.

This time I baked your letter. Found it in my cake. Yesterday was my birthday, you see. It always seems to fall on a Farnsday after, for some reason. Yet as I began to cut for myself a piece of the plain brown cake (frosting of course being forbidden ever since the Great Repression), I came upon your latest missive.

Bless you fleur, for remembering my birthday – which I’m hoping you knew about because of your otherworldly powers. Remembrance of birthdays is discouraged these days by the polis, as too individualistic and self-centered. Your letter is the first birthday present I’ve had for years. Now I’m 34.

birthday cake

And as I sat there, eating the still-warm cake with a glass of water (I did have a candle, saved from my mother), Flanuus came to my window again and sang to me while I read your letter. My best birthday ever.

I met with Juliana yesterday, under the central square. They sure do have a labyrinthine warren down there. She seemed scandalized and disappointed that I haven’t opened the Mallareus yet. I told her about you, and she was almost as surprised as I am by your otherworldly nature, though she grasped my forearm in her rough bony fist and whispered, “One never knows in these cases, does one?”

I guess not.

I’ve been trying to get my thoughts around the polarity issue and have come to a conclusion. I’m not smart enough. My brain seems pretty happy with two. Good and bad. I like something or I don’t. Unfortunately, most of “my kind” seem to be this way too. Gradients everywhere? Whew, too many rainbows and I go color-blind. Cosmic consciousness may work great out there in the cosmos, but here on earth we ain’t got the brains for it. Or maybe we do, but just don’t know it. All I can do is learn from you and continue the fight.

Some planes just don’t intersect. The only place where all planes are mandated to intersect at all points is in the hive-mind of the polis.

The conspirators are talking about sending me out of the city to a secret freedom camp for training in the Underhood. That would mean I quit my job and leave the grid. Become a fugitive from the polis. Somehow that seems less scary than reading the Mallareus.

There’s a polar issue for you: slavery or freedom.

The promise of which I spoke, the unspoken promise of the book, is a promise in my heart, a feeling of hope and beauty that grows where none had been before. That is what I fear to break, though never has it been spoken. Or only in my heart.

What if the Mallareus Mallecarium is mere empty words, like so many smuggled books before it? I cannot bear the thought.

I put my trust in you, dear fleur, my flower-woman of the stars.

Your loving earthling,


~ 10 ~

Dearest Norman,

So you are on Earth? No wonder I have not yet found your physical presence! It seems I misconstrued the clues as to your whereabouts and my assignment therein. I shall make haste, forthwith, to journey to the place inhabited by this particular aspect of your beeing.

Earth is a complicated assignment for these kinds of encounters, as Earth supports multifarious “dimensions” if you will. For you see, there are alternate realities created with each and every decision a person makes.

When one inhabits Earth, one believes that his or her earth is the only one in existence, when in “reality” there are many realities created with every choice made, and off-branchings of each person as those choices are made, sometimes into a whole new dimension and world that closely resembles the one they have been inhabiting up until that point of decision. Have you noticed that things seem to change around you as you “think” a certain way? The only way to change your situation, then, is to change your thinking about it. You do, of course, need to align yourself with others who think in line with what you choose to create.

Does any of this make sense to you? I hope so!

I, like Juliana, encourage you to please open the book. The dawning of this new year you encounter in your life is a very good time to start!

Your humble little cake brought joy to my heart as you honored your beeing by celebrating your birth on this marvelous planet you inhabit. So many possibilities await!

Do you have choices in the matter of your next “assignment?” Choose carefully! And do let me know of any changing circumstances.

I shall consult with Flanuus regarding the particular dimension of Earth you inhabit and regarding your circumstances and what persona might be best for me to take on, individually, there. I trust he will be familiar enough with the “territory” to advise me well.


And do tell me what Juliana knows of me – it seems from your letter she was surprised as to who exactly I am. Whom did she think I was? This is all so fascinating! I am waiting to hear....

Until then, be well and of good spirits. The Book is meant to warm your heart. It is given to you for re-embering Love which guides us all.



~ 11 ~

fleur –

They are coming for me. We’ve been betrayed. Only time to jot note and put on sill – hope Flanuus gets it before wind or the polis – then I must away.

Will you travel to our planet? Please come. We need you. We need hope.


~ 12 ~

Dearest Norman,

Who showed up at your door? And to take you where?

You need neither pen nor paper – Flanuus will find you and you may merely make a whisper to him (who, mind you, might be a “her” this time) – as the clandestine coverings of the female in drab go easily dismissed when the player is a bird.

Here is something that may help you, if you believe yourself in some kind of danger. I think it may have slipped my mind to “let you in on something” and this “something” may be exactly what you need!

It has become necessary for me to journey home before my lengthy yet “zippy” travels to you (where you actually live) can begin...for home is the place from which all journeys begin...at least this is so for “my people.”

It occurs to me to show you how I begin my travels, as there may be a re-embrance in this for you. At the very least, I think you would find it an absorbing story with which to take your mind off of circumstances which may leave something to be desired. But just as your physicists of old had to speak in numbers to convey their stories about the Universe, I must speak in pictures regarding mine, so close your eyes and I shall reveal one to you now:

As I contemplate journeys, I travel first to the edge of As We Know It. As if floating mid-worlds my spirit takes on the form of a sphere and hovers on the edge of our galaxy, contemplating and meditating on the upcoming travels, in preparation for the Merkaba’s (the Light Body’s) zippings to the upcoming destination.

Just yesterday, a friend journeying with me to these outer reaches took this “mindshot” of me while I contemplated my travels. She gave it to me as a present. I share it now with you:

fleur's contemplation

You may want to meditate on this image for however long you feel comfortable doing so. You, too, travel like this and contemplate travelings in a similar manner.... You, too, have such a Light Body by which you travel in your dreams. You in particular have a special gift for this, believe it or not! It’s just that you may not have yet re-embered within your waking self how you do this, or even that you do it at all.

It occurs to me that you may want to immerse yourself in such contemplation before opening the Mallareus Mallecarium (that is if you were allowed to sneak it into that surprise pocket in the lining of your jacket on your way out the door.) You might find this picture I give you to be something of guide for journeying into the book.

As always, I wish you Joyous Growth and Happy Learnings in these strange travels – they be there, always awaiting. I look forward to contacting you and hearing from you again, soon, from – how do you say it?...oh yes...from your particular throat in the forest.



~ 14 ~

Dear fleur,

Your home must be wonderful! Beyond wonder, from what I see of it. And you a golden sphere of light! Your mindshot is a mindblower. I used it to give me strength during my escape. Thank you, my marvelous sphere of a flower-goddess. I could have used your powers of transformation during my journey here.

Right now I am recuperating from a broken forearm, a twisted knee, and a gunshot to my side. Healing nicely in my new home, though, so not to worry. I feel pretty well broken in as a freedom fighter now. A real Under, even though we are outdoors.

Yes, I have a home now, just like you, only I only just found mine. It is so beautiful here, I can’t tell you, fleur. We are camped under trees at the foot of a waterfall, beside a blue, blue spring. The birds are singing outside my tent and the scent of the air is sweeter than I could have dreamed. I wish I could just recuperate forever, even though it is rather painful (you don’t want to know). When I meditate on your mindshot the pain almost goes away.

The Unders Cavern

There is a permanent settlement of the Underhood living in the caverns behind the waterfall. I attended their meeting last night with Juliana, carried in on my stretcher. They want to kidnap the children of the polis and raise them as children should be raised, with loving kindness and the understanding that every one of them is a sacred emanation from the Godhood, a soul to be cherished and nurtured rather than indoctrinated into the soulless blasphemies of the polis, to become another cog in their evil machine.

Sounds like a good plan to me, except for the whole kidnap thing. If there was some way we could leave that out I would be happier. Oh well, I’ll leave the politics to them. Right now I’m recuperating.

Flannus doesn’t seem to mind that I’m still using pen and paper. You may be able to talk with him but all I hear are his unearthly sylvan melodies, which transport me to places I can’t even describe. He’s around a lot these days. Juliana calls him “Norman’s pet bird”. Flanuus helped us escape the city, but he probably already told you that. He’s waiting for me to finish this. I’m going slow because I’m writing left-handed at present. Sorry for the scrawl.

Still have the book, thank goodness. Haven’t opened it yet, but soon. I can feel the time coming. Sure hope the ink is waterproof, with all the swimming we had to do – or Juliana had to do while dragging me, since I’d never been in the water before. I did kick my feet, though, like she advised.

How did you know about my secret pocket? That was supposed to be a secret!

Hoping to see you soon, yet still wondering if you are an imaginary correspondent, too perfect to be true.

Your grateful Under,


P.S. I’m amazed at what you tell me about my “particular gift”. I don’t even remember my dreams most of the time.

~ 15 ~

Dearest Norman,

I am so happy to hear of your recovery with the Unders in their beautiful abode!

To facilitate your healings, I feel I simply must write to you of the Sylfaen, the wondrous instrument to which I have alluded in my earlier missives. As I believe I told you before, an individual manifestation of this instrument (have you ever read your Aristotle’s “idea of the chair”?) is brought into existence with each soul upon birth into our world.

To understand any of this, first you must know:

Everything is made of Light ~ even in your world! ~ solid though things may seem. Your physicists of old spoke of Light as both particle and wave, depending upon how it is observed. How true this is! Like water, Light in its very substance and in the perceiving of it manifests and travels in waves (as in the ocean) and/or in drops (as in rain). Water is the closest “solid” thing to that which worlds and their contents are truly made: Light.

As to The Sylfaen: Each child is born into our world with his or her very own sylfaen instrument which is the foundation of his or her being in the form of sound. One’s sylfaen is written in the very core of the DNA. The infant calls it to beeing while still in the crib – usually within the first day! S/he raises her tiny hand to play, and the instrument simply appears before her in space! From that moment on, whenever s/he desires to play, s/he raises her hand before her (a forearm’s length from her shoulder) and the sylfaen appears.

The sylfaen is an instrument much like your pianoforte of old, but smaller, and its keys are like buttons, they are so small in comparison. The tone you heard Flanuus sing the very first time – 528 Hertz – is the Sound of the Universe, and is the predominant tone of the sylfaen, a tone which wavers in and out as the instrument is played.

The sylfaen “appears as if out of thin air” when the musician is called to play it. The player raises her “handed” hand in the air, and the sylfaen appears before it, vertically, such that the keys are played by moving the arm and fingers up and down (instead of side-to-side as is done with the piano forte).

The Sylfaen

There are three to 6 notes across the board and an infinite number of notes up and down. The notes across are variances to the tone of that line – variances which to the human ear are noticed but indescribable in human terms. You remember how the 528 Hertz of Flanuus had variances that you could not find a way to describe? This is so with each tone of the sylfaen, each line holding a varying tone, the individual buttons across that line accentuating a particular of that tone – 528 Hertz being akin to your Middle C (a whole line across – 3-6 buttons – on our sylfaen).

If this is at all vague to your comprehension, it will be clear (at least to your inner knowing), in just a moment. For embedded in this letter I am placing a mindshot I took of me playing my own sylfaen today. When you place your hand upon the mindshot of my hand, you shall hear what I play! There are 3 songs imbedded in the picture to which I will tell you now, the titles:

A Song for Norman’s Birthday
Happy Journeyings Dear Norman
Whilst Reading & Writing in The Book

Each finger of my hand holds a song...touch the finger and the song shall play. As to the other five? Ah – those are for you to name!




~ 16 ~

Dear fleur,

I knew it. You are a goddess.

I played Happy Journeyings Dear Norman. – Journeyings is one way to say it, I guess.

Your song sang sun. It sang me into waves of color, a series of earings beyond tune into flight, sounds like crystal bells, scintillant watery swells, and lightwaves swinging bright. Yet dark and bright mingling, singling, starring swift slopes of electric purity blasting sound into serious sensation.

I’m sorry, I can’t say it. That’s not it at all. It was way better than that. And song is a poor word for such a thing. There must be a word in your language (or one my tongue can handle) for a piece played on your celestial harmonium, the sylfaen.

All I can tell you for sure is I’m cured. So much for recuperation. In fact I feel better than I ever have in my life. When I awakened from your magical tune every one of my hurts had healed. I stepped out the tent, breathing deep, and was surprised to see that all the fish in the pond had jumped out of the water toward me, swimming to the source of your sound, and were now flipping around helplessly. I managed to scoot most of them back into the water before they expired (keeping a couple big ones for lunch), but I’ll know not to play your songs lightly in the future.

I am now the world’s best fisherman, as long as I have this mindshot of your remarkable sylfaen. But I might want to fish alone, I think.

My fellow campers, Juliana and her brothers, Eric and Feric, are all still frozen in listening positions, standing where they were when the song started. All of nature around me in our grotto, the birds and the wind and even the rushing sound of the waterfall, seems quietened, waiting, or giving space to this holy sound, silence for the sacred.

Will they wake up soon?

I hope you mean, when you say the other fingertips of your hands are mine to name, that you will be coming soon, though I’m afraid the mere sight of your glorious being might blast me off the earth into cosmoland or something. (I’m not used to all these strange occurances, no matter how wonderful.)

Looking forward to your arrival anyway. If I can see you, I don’t care what happens after that.

With much gratitude, my goddess,


~ 17 ~

Dearest Norman ~

Who would have thought the sounds of the sylfaen would affect things of your world so profoundly!? And you say you are cured!? All wounds healed?! This is wonderful news, indeed!

I trust that your companions have awakened by the time you receive this response ~ did they enjoy their experiences with the sylfaen song? What say they of it?

There have only been a few of our kind to visit Earth, and very briefly; I must ask about their sylfaenii...if played while they were on the planet, how the songs were received, and I shall also inquire more deeply regarding other advice. It is so very important to us to have limited impact, imparting blessings always on invitation. I felt your invitation to play the sylfaen ~ perhaps I was hasty?

As to the fingers ~ ah, dear Norman, the fingers in the mindshot are linked to songs embedded therein. Touch a finger; hear a song. Three you know. Once you hear the others, you can name them. You will know their names.

Please give me all the news you can about the grotto and your new life there. You sound in such good spirits! It seems you have found your kith.

Kiss Flanuus on the head for me! (He’ll know who it’s from.)

In Loving Namaste,


~ 18 ~

My dear fleur,

I’m getting worried. Are you having second thoughts about visiting earth? You haven’t mentioned anything lately about your plans or your trip, and my heart begins to misgive. Yet I will always treasure our correspondence, and remember all you taught and gave to me, no matter what.

I know now, magic lives.

If I don’t hear from you soon I may have to play another song on the sylfaen, and then goodness knows what will happen?

Juliana and her brothers have awakened, though Feric talks with a lisp now. About an hour after Flanuus took my letter to you, they started humming and twitching and then they woke up. All of them spoke in strange tongues for some hours afterward, but when they awakened the next morning they were normal – except for Feric with the lisp. His brother is really giving him a hard time about it, I’m afraid.

Juliana spoke to me for hours the next day, while we remain here waiting on the decision of the Underhood.

She moved in and out of language and song and strange sweet whistlings. It was the oddest conversation, fleur, like talking to a mythical beast or an angel. I can’t tell you what she said, as I only recall snatches, but I remember a deep feeling of peace and agreement, as if we spoke in song of plans set in place long before our births, and were just confirming those arrangements.

We are staying here for the time being, waiting for the Underdwelling Convoclave to end: the grand meeting of the Unders, in which they will decide my fate and the fate of all the children of the polis – or at least they will devise a plan, which is often decidedly different than fate.

Juliana seems to think they might take weeks to decide.

There’s not much to tell you about our life here at present, since we are mainly taking our ease. Much of my entertainment comes from watching Eric tease his brother about his new lisp. It’s only justice as I see it, since Feric, being the larger of the twins and more bullheaded, was always prone to bullying Eric. Now all Eric has to do is imitate his brother’s lisp and Feric will break down crying.

I do some fishing in the mornings (the normal way), which the twins showed me how early on. I’m starting to hook them with regularity. Fish, not twins. The taste of fresh cow-fish filets in the morning, with snail fritters and spurled heek-beets? Now that’s breakfast. Nothing like the bland porridges of the polis.


Yep, I’m in paradise (except for worrying about your plans).

Flanuus keeps perching on the Mallareus and pecking at the strap, but I try to ignore him. I think he may be peeved at me, since when I tried to kiss his head for you he flew away. But I know he knows.

Your friend,


~ 19 ~

Greetings my Dearest Norman!

My whole being became instantly alert to certain particulars of your last letter. I must address these foremost, as they in a sense eclipse any priority regarding my coming to you in person:

I was alerted by the kidnapping issue mentioned in your last missive. You were right to be alarmed by this idea.

It is extremely important for any group which purports to support a just cause to know this fact:

The end never justifies the means, indeed, the End and the Means are One. Whatever means are employed toward any end, these means come back to the employer tenfold. If your group decides to pursue this path of kidnapping, the consequences are surely to be the group’s pursuance with your grotto haven in danger of discovery and your children in danger of being absorbed into the polis. There is another way. This way comes from the children themselves, making them guardians of their own fate.

Please have Juliana or whomever you know as having influence with your Elders to pass along my advice:

It is best to subtly permeate the consciousness of the children of the polis one-by-one, and one-by-one they will run away ~in secret~ to you.

How shall you do this? You may well ask. I shall tell you what I believe would be the best and wisest way. It requires some learning which requires some re-embering:

One way would be for one of you (and then perhaps later, more of you) to appear to each child of the polis as a guardian angel and in private, one-by-one. The Light Body at dreamtime is an excellent way to do this.

Following this plan, the actions are done in Truth, for in Truth many of you serve in another-self form as Guardian Angels throughout other worlds. This is a clean way to help all involved.

There is a nanny among you who lives in the polis. She is one of these “guardian angels.” She travels in dreamtime. She remembers some of her dreams. She is known here by the name Holana. In dreamtime, she knows her True Name.


Bring Holana to your waterfall, have her hear Flanuus sing, then play for her the sylfaen song. You and Juliana will know which one. It is the song you named.

The sylfaen song will awaken in Holana the abilities to be conscious during dreams. The sylfaen song awakens the dreamer to the True Purpose of the dreamer in what you call “real life.” By listening to the sylfaen, Holana will awaken to her Purpose: guiding the children safely Home. She will dream of the children one by one. Her Spirit will guide them safely Home.

I shall leave you with this urging and also with my blessings:

Know that preparations are underway for me to join you in your world as quickly as possible. This endeavour has its own particulars, and I must be particular in every step. In my next missive to you, I shall explain more fully. For now: gather your comrades to the support of Holana in her Purpose. It is her time.



~ 20 ~

Dear fleur,

Holana amanda
Holi holi nana mahn
Cusera maman nanda
Holi holi nana mam
O lana!

Those are the words, as close as I can get them, that Juliana sang to me when I spoke to her of Holana. Her eyes lit up and she began to sing. She’s singing a lot these days, though I think only Flanuus understands her. Sure looks a lot prettier when she sings. Quite a contrast to her dour brother Feric.

The legend of the Holy Nanny has been told for many generations among the polis. They are afraid of her, and tell dark stories about her in the night to frighten their children. She is said to come when the wind is in the east. Most Unders consider it to be an old wives’ tale, rubbish from the polis. Not Juliana, who is leader of the small faction of the Underhood that is dead set against kidnapping of any kind. I thought you might agree with her on that; we all do here in our little camp, even Feric.

Juliana knows how to find Holana, who up until now has been merely a character in a fairy tale.

“There is but one man in the Underhood who can contact her. We must send for the Gurwarden.”

“The who?” I replied mildly, still somewhat muddled by her song.

“Gurwarden Portato Fallon, master caliwhamper of our sect. It is he who sent your message to fleur for us...for you, that is, though you did not know it yet. And he who told me to bring you the Mallareus Mallecarium, which we have held all these many centuries, untouched, to be given to the one for which it was written.”




“You still haven’t opened it, have you?” Juliana’s grey eyes bored into me with that penetrating mixture of humor and exasperation, though this time I wondered if I saw the beginning of a look of panic in there.

“Oh, I uh, well, almost. I’m almost ready, I swear. Flanuus has pecked most of the way through the strap, anyway. Figure might as well wait til he finishes.”

So Eric has gone to find Gurwarden Fallon, and Juliana will try to contact him tonight in what she calls “the dreamholding”. I will continue to fish and eat. And breathe the sweet breath of Gaia-Lune, as Julia calls our wonderful earth. Who knew it is such magic just to be?

So relieved to hear you are still planning to come, fleur. Thank you, from all of us. I’m afraid I assumed you would appear as swiftly as your letters sometimes do.

From what you say, I’m not sure you understand the situation fully here in this dimension of Earth. There are nearly ten billion of the polis on the planet and only 100,000 or so, worldwide, of the Unders. Most of the people of the polis live in vast cities, dining on soylent green or some such. They don’t believe in soul and live silent lives.

Here in the Wilderlands there are very few of us, and only rarely do a lot of Unders gather together in one place, such as here for the Convoclave (which was convened more about me than the kidnapping plot, from what I can gather – they too are waiting for me to open the book). Most of us live in secret under the cities. If the polis knew we were here they would wipe us out.

I will let you know if we hear from Fallon or Holana.

Your loving,


~ 22 ~

I must speak to you of


knock knock whose their nobody
nobody nobody who that is there.

My Dearest Norman,

A quick note, for I am off to contemplate travels again, today, but must tell you something that may be of import:

You ask:

“Who knew it is such magic just to be?”

That it is.

Today, Flanuus explained something to me that escaped my understanding. Perhaps it is for you and your Unders in this endeavour I pray you are about to undertake.

I wrote down his wordsong precisely, so as to convey the meaning as closely as possible:

Knots and nose and nors (?) are registered
in the subconscious as the onswitch for
ego’s movie projector of life
in the light of the flipsided mirror which like
Alice’s, projects one’s fear onto the scene
~ or rather the screen ~
of life.

To be sure of what this means may take some considerable knowledge of your world, which I pray someday I shall possess, it is all so fascinating to me! All I can say as to the meaning is that it seems to say one must be keenly aware of the times one says the words “knots, nose and nors” although understanding of the reasons therein are beyond me at this time.

Flanuus’ recent song reminds me of the children’s rhyme we sing on the celebration day upon which we honor polarity worlds. We all stand in a circle holding hands while running one way, singing the song, then the other, singing it all over again, and we do it over and over until we all fall down laughing.

one direction:

knock knock whose their nobody, nobody, nobody who that is there.

other direction:

knock knock whose their nobody, nobody, nobody who that is there.

As to sense, there is little in this little rhymesong, and at the same time, much in it can be read. It’s rather a lot of fun. We giggle all the way through it.

rhymesong kids

It seems to me to have something to do with NO and ON. Are these what you call “opposites”? I think perhaps they are rather keys to one another, somehow.

I look forward to spending time with you in your polarity world, so I can see the sights therein and perhaps make sense of this rhymesong and Flanuus’ most recent chirpings, as well (of course!) as being able to lay my outer eyes upon your visage.

I am happy to hear that Juliana is singing, again. Yes, her song is a part of her and a gift to your world. That this seemingly-new activity was initiated by the sylfaen is to be expected.

I hope this gleaning I have sent to you from Flanuus aids your quest in some way. It seemed urgent.

In the meantime, I am off to contemplate traveling to your world. I shall let you know, when I return, my gleanings.



~ 23 ~

Dear fleur,

You know, I think you and I must be quite a bit alike, despite our galaxy-sized differences. We both seem to favor contemplation.

The first Brave and Foolhardy thing I ever did in my life was to contact the Unders. Before that, most of the time, all I did was think. My work never called for much of that, so I thought there too. And for such an inward sort as I, as difficult as it was to take that first brave and foolish step toward the Underhood, it is harder to be brave and wise. Much harder, I find.

That’s why I still can’t open the book.

Thank you for sharing the story of your children’s frolic. It sounds, well it sounds, well, not like any children’s games we have here. Idyllic in a strange way, running and chanting and laughing. Mostly we just beat each other up. Or at least the girls beat up the boys. The boys would rather play electronic imaginary games where they kill people. You can see why I left the polis. Too many knots, nose, and nors.

Killzone 2

And thanks for translating Flanuus’s song for me. I find it rather confusing, more so than the music he sings to us here, which I don’t bother to understand – since there is nothing there for me to understand after all, other than celestial beauty and wonderful feelings. Or is there? This ego he sings of...I take it that is bad?

Holana will soon be arriving. It is said she brings a mirror, called the Prism of Ono.

Love and New Childrens’ Games,


P.S. No and on are not exactly opposites. The opposite of no is yes, but on is a sort of yes.

~ 24 ~

My Dearest Norman,

It is indeed becoming more and more apparent that you and I have more in common than either of us at first did imagine. I recently heard this is a saying on Earth, and it is happening here, this day: You and I are ever-so-much “the talk in the town!” I hope you are in the mood for a lengthy missive, for I am overbrimming with excitement in words! Let me tell you....

A multifarious array of subjects have sprouted up with lively discussion in ballet around each, each topic a foundling in twins or sextuplets springing from the mouths of one my own people or springing from one of our visitors of late, and it all seems to have been precipitated by my upcoming journey to Earth!

Hence my scheduled contemplation journey has been postponed until I can suss my way through this marvelous meandering chitterly chat (wherein I listen as well as participate).

As my people have yet to partake in lengthy visits to polarity worlds (our stopovers usually lasting less than an hour!) all of the currently gathering peoples are very curious, indeed about my upcoming journey (which shall be much longer than most!) Now, there are a few visitors here at the moment who have experience with polarity worlds, and they have been endeavoring to provide definitions and explanations as best as they can, knowing the limits of our vernacular. Those who have been to your planet (where it resides in your current dimension as well as in other dimensions) have conveyed so many varied ideas as to what polarity might actually be, a rare phenomenon has occurred: people are talking in layers one over the other as to render the speculations and sussings almost inaudible!

Chitterly Chatterings

All the natives of my home world kythe with one another, “hearing” one another’s thoughts. Today, however, there are so many thoughts converging within such a plethora of subjects, a cacophony of musical inside and outside speech (imagine 50 Julianas singing at once!) has created such a sound as ten orchestras tuning!

Two themes (which in turn twine within one another) press upon my consciousness to discuss at this moment, and I would dearly love to have your input, as both are significant in terms of my upcoming visit: one issue being experiences which those of your world might have as a result of interacting with me, and the other being experiences I might have as a result of interacting with your world in general.

Gentle Introductions to New Concepts

Many from our world have traveled to other worlds so as to experience life in as many venues as can be absorbed by our nature. We understand the import of each culture evolving naturally according to its own growth patterns and proclivities, so we seek to limit our influence to only small things, and those in accordance with what is already apparent as prominent in that particular culture.

For example, if one of us were to visit a world where everything were seen in various tones of grey, an introduction to Color would be experienced as ~what do you call it? Oh yes ~ an anathema to that world’s inhabitants. Like a sudden and blinding flashing light on a moonless night, Color would as you say, “intrude.”

Color in grey

At first quite obscure, the presence of Color would at some point be sensed as something disturbing to the occupants of that planet. Marvelous as Color is, and important as she is being a tool for Light to construct things material, it is vital that each culture experience such revelations as “Light as Hue” in the natural evolution of Godis revealing Color – in her unique and natural embrace – gently, as was originally conceived for that particular planet.


The best I have been able to grasp the concept of opposites is by looking first at real life and then turning to mirrored life for comparison. I have stood before a mirror in meditation for many hours allowing the enfoldment of awareness regarding this particular concept to reach my understanding as much as is possible for my species.

fleur's mirror

What I’ve been able to suss is this:

From what I understand, “opposites” are very different things. (Though I am beginning to suspect “opposites” are more concept than thing, the actual belief in the concept makes one thing appear opposite to another. Is this true to your understanding?)

Things viewed as opposite (as I understand the term) are perceived as being entirely different such that, although they reside in the same universe, they operate by rules anathematic to one another.

To construct an “opposite” I think it must be necessary to take a rainbow and stretch it out, giving it ends, making a string of it which would stretch from end-to-end, so there actually is an end to this string of ever-enfolding color, at which point you call one end’s color “good” and the other end’s color “bad.”

rainbow's end

Is this an accurate description?

And what of “sort of ok?” There is still a sliding scale between “good” and “bad” which would indicate that something about “polarity” itself is askew.

Comprehending the purpose of viewing things in this way is a process of thinking that eludes me, and I find that in itself most intriguing.

As to how this relates to mirrors...this is a subject I still seek to understand.

In the mirror, things look exactly the same to me, they’re just viewed from the other side.

The eye that shares the same side of my body as my doing hand, looks into the mirror’s same eye. However, if I were to step into the mirror as I am and look out, it would be the helping hand’s eye looking out.

It is the magic of the mirror to see different sides. And so it is that “opposites” still elude me! I imagine discovering opposites in your world (best as I can imagine) and each imagining is different. I wonder if any of these imaginings are “opposite” one of the others?

I would be most interested in your view upon these matters, as these matters are indeed in your view, whereas my viewing them is yet to come.

Oh! Before I part with your presence with this pen, I must mention:

I was so filled with excitement in my last letter to you, I think I must have taken you down a different turn of the path than that which I intended, regarding the children’s rhyme! When I wrote of our celebration dance, I meant to convey that the entire population joins in song and dance when we celebrate polarity worlds. As you can imagine, it is a very big circle we make!

Children, of course, make a circle too, when they dance the song, much like you saw in your mind when you read my last letter.

As to ego I was hoping you would shed some light. From what Flanuus and others say, ego is a manifestation of self in polarity worlds, a second self which one manufactures within the self in order to deal with the very first question to which the answer is “No.” Being a mirror of the self, the “No” is perceived as “On” ~ like a command of some kind for an ego to come into existence. I asked Flanuus if this was like manifesting the self in another world or an alternate universe, and he cocked his head, smiled his birdsmile, and kept chippering on. He said:

“As this only occurs in polarity worlds,
once manufactured, ego acts as an opposite to the self in the self,
and as a mirror to the self appears to be the self.”

Flanuus says it is as if you have walked into Alice’s mirror once you have constructed your ego. Does any of this help explain to you what ego is? If so, can you now enlighten me?

And please, can you tell me of Alice’s mirror? I am most curious, indeed! And do tell me everything you hear about the Prism of Ono....

I eagerly await your response...and until then and always....



~ 25 ~

Dear fleur,

Holana has been captured by the polis. We must leave to rescue her.

I do knot nors what to say to your letter, other than to give my thanks, as always, for your loving and true support – and the use of Flanuus. It seems to me our worlds are so very far apart that how can they ever meet? Regardless of how alike we are in ways.

I do not know if opposites do or even can exist in your world. An example I might offer you from here is that it would be “bad” if Holana is tortured and killed by the polis and it would be “good” if we rescue her.

Those aren’t exactly opposites but they’re pretty darn close. I realize it isn’t just semantics here, it isn’t just the word, but a true non-opposition you speak of. I can feel that in my heart, feel it coming from you in your words and mindpics, but cannot get it with my head. Our planes are vortices apart. For all I can tell, if a being were tortured and killed in your dimension, it would fall down, or down-ishward, giggling. Not that torture or imprisonment are things your kind would ever have to deal with, since you seem powerful beyond all pain.

Maybe it’s the pain. We have pain, you don’t. If you had seen the look on Juliana’s face when she heard Holana had been taken, you would know what pain is. And fury.

Perhaps it is better if you do not come. I cannot wish such a knowing on anyone, especially you, dear fleur.

This is a bad, bad place, and full of many loving hearts about to break. We must rescue Holana. Juliana learnt of her plight in dream-meld, and Fallon found the Prism of Ono, shattered in half.

I will take the book. We may need it.

In hope,


~ 26 ~

Dearest Norman,

Please keep me advised as often as you can; I will take what you’ve said here into my heart and into the Counsel of Elders.

Some of us have heard of pain, yet reference for such escapes us all. I shall ask one of our Sirean Brethren here to peer into Holana’s current surroundings, and I shall advise you of what we have gleaned of her circumstances as soon as I have any advisement to give. You have stated rightly: we are Powerful beyond all...beyond all...I look out the window to entreat the stars, for words escape me....

We Lift        Holana
to the Almighty Only,
The Source of All,
Moving through All
In Love and Light
Throughout All Circumstances
Such that Holana knows the Power Within,
Wielding Loving Light toward the Transfixation of All
To this Beauteous Light of Love, Re-Embering Love of Light,
So much so that Abundantly with Light and Love All Shines...
The very Trees, the very Grasses, the very Walls, the very Grounds and Halls
Through which Holana may Travel, Shining such Glowings that Everyone
~ aside from proclivities, aside from “sides,” aside from any judgment
to which they may be inclined ~
Is Blest
And Each Knows the Blessedness of Supporting Holana
In All her Travels and Trials of Training
Bringing about the Real-I-zation
of the Abundant Loving Power
That She Embodies Exemplar
As One Soul in One Body
Upon the Earth.

Let it Be So
So It Is

And as I speak this, dear Norman, the words float before me in the air, crystalising and becoming a glowing trinket before me, and I reach out to touch it, and upon its top a shining silver hoop appears, and so I place it hanging from a branch upon my indoor-growing tree whose blessing it is to carry such adornments as these, and it now holds Holana in Blessing, until all is resolved in Holy Peace...at which point the crystaline starry droplet of a trinket will dissolve into snowflakes falling to the foot of the tree....

And with this word, I bid you farewell, for night has fallen, and it is time to entreat the Elders and the Stars.

Until next time, and always,



~ 27 ~

The Seal of Solono

I opened the book.

Your crystalstone tree-song sang me to it. I dashed to my tent, snatched up the Mallareus Mallecarium and opened it to the third page, where long ago you said the Seal that Sendeth lay. When first I spied the Sacred Seal of Solono, it spun and rotated and sat up in my soul, something I knew, yet never yet did reckon. Somewhere it came from, somewhere it goes, sometime it neverwhelm underflows.

This is the power of Holana, this is the singing of the Holy One! “From Under Shall Come Truth.” All the beacons sing of it, all the guidons seer, never can the ever of the always be more near.

Gurwarden Fallon is with us. Holana is also here, but in spirit, in you, fleurholden.

We have arrived, here in the capital of our Ununited States – Uranus City, the biggest stinking megalopolis on the planet, that place I had hoped never to see again. Yet, it’s where I was grown, and I can’t help but feel the pull of it. The drone mind looping me back in.


Thank you fleur, for your energy-sending of love, or whatever it was. Juliana says Holana is cocooned in a mirror of light and cannot be harmed, though the polis still have her, at the top of their highest tower, imprisoned in a steel sphere.

I know now what it is that I must do.

At present we are resting, far in the underdwelling beneath the city. Flanuus perches on my shoulder as I feed him bits of tailorbread. I can feel the spirit of the Holy Nanny within me. Soon she will be free.

Bless you fleur,


~ 28 ~

Bless you, Norman!

You have lain your eyes upon the Seal of Solono! Bravo! You can do anything, now.

I am so happy to hear from you and to hear the news you bear in your latest letter. Believe me when I say it is all “good” as you tend to deem “good” and “bad.” This is all Good.

So right it is as Light transfixes the Present into what has been and always shall be, that Holana is in the Tower. How can this be? The tower must bend to the ways of Godis ever loving. Although the Tower has taken on the masculine form so long and so strong, it has forgotten its foundation ~ forever a circle of Light ~ as Holana’s form inhabits it, the Tower is now in the process of re-embering that its very own form is the number 1, representing Wholeness and Oneness its very foundation that it has forgotten over time. Holana brings Light to the Tower and it bends to the ways of Godis. It is so; you see it, you feel it so in your heart.

And thus, all who inhabit the Tower now, all who visit the Tower now, all who believe that they own the Tower...they too bend to the will of Godis, which is truly the will of each of their own Heart of Hearts, a place within each that these poor souls have forgotten.

They are in process of re-embering now.

The Time has Come.

And so to further the Purpose, I send the BlessingSpell forthwith to the Tower itself, to Holana within, to all within and without the Tower, verily I say, encapsulating the steel sphere in a ball of Light in its own shape and circumference, a bubble made from the crystaline prayre as you did see it first made. And now although unseen, as now in a sphere, the crystals ~ I spin them just as I plucked the jewel from the air ~ and they burst forth through the sphere, through every barrier spinning and wielding Light from whence all was made....

...fon Ganeshama Olana Holana,

It Be So.

fleur's spell-prayre

Please keep me updated as things transpire.

As to my journeyings, I shall stay put until I shall know for certain whither or not to be coming or going.

Namaste dear Norman, dear Heart of Light,


~ 29 ~

Dear fleur,

Well, you did it. Your BlessingSpell has worked its miracle. The tower bent down and touched earth and released Holana. All the polis felt her love enfold them and they have become one in love and beauty. The Underhood has come into the sun, welcomed as brothers and sisters by the polis.

All our planet has suddenly flowered into a wonderland of light. All my dreams have come true, thanks to you, beloved goddess. Now I have nothing to wish for.

Thanks a lot,




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